Assassin's Bane
by Byrdde
Summary: Havelock Vetinari is an up and coming in the Assassin’s Guild, but someone keeps getting in his way...
1. Disclaimer and Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Everything in Discworld, from the Great A'Tuin to the highest peak of the Ramtops and everything in between, belongs to Terry Pratchett. I just like sticking a few things on it and playing a little. Oh yes, and Ienska's mine.

NB: Ienska is pronounced with a long "I" at the beginning.

~

Havelock Vetinari stood still. Most people, when they try to stand still, affect a relaxed stance and simply don't move. Vetinari was motionless. He didn't even sway.

The Assassin's Guild set great store in concealment and Havelock Vetinari, a young student of the Guild, was one of the best they had. Though, if you asked the man who instructed the classes on concealment and camouflage,* he'd tell you he'd never even seen the boy in class.  
[* The Unseen University had a similar course known as Invisibility for Dummies. The pass requirements were quite simple: don't ever let the professor see you. For some reason, the class was quite popular among two of the school's major factions, the students and faculty.]

A vendor pushing a cart with a squeaky wheel shuffled by.

It was a testament to Vetinari's motionless stance that the man didn't even glance at him. Street vendors in Ankh-Morpork had a sixth sense when it came to potential customers. If there was anyone within a several mile radius, they seemed to gravitate toward them. The man nearly rolled over Vetinari's foot.

***

Ienska Tineshan leaned against the dirty brick wall of a bustling Ankh-Morpork city street. Everything in Ankh-Morpork bustled, it was the secondary state of matter in the city.* Ienska, however, seemed immune to the bustling, as a matter of fact, she seemed to exude a sort of anti-bustle. It wasn't that she didn't move – though she didn't, really – but that she failed to do so in any way that would be considered in the least bit interesting.  
[*The primary state being the mob. Everything in Ankh-Morpork considered the time between interesting events to be a sort of intermission to reality and waited for any chance to gather in large groups and shout things.]

The Masters said she had a gift. She could stand in the middle of a crowded room and scream, they said, and no one would notice her if she didn't want them to. Or she could stand quite still in a corner, doing nothing much, and every eye in the room would be drawn to her. She seemed to have unequivocal control over her presence. The Masters found this a remarkable talent, unmatched in all the skills time could endow a person with, and, besides that, quite unnerving.

Ienska herself didn't really think about it.

If anyone had noticed her, they would wonder how she could possibly blend in. She wore a tunic of striking, dark blue over loose trousers. Ankh-Morpork was an enlightened city, women were allowed to wear pants if they felt like it, especially if they had business like sharp edges about their person. Which Ienska had in the form of a slightly curved sword hanging from her hip. It wasn't that there was anything _wrong_ about her appearance, but there wasn't anything subtle about it either. And yet…

Yet she stood there, leaning unconcernedly against the wall and no one paid her so much as a glance. One of Ankh-Morpork's infamous vendors continued on by without trying to sell her anything, an action usually reserved for vendors in a state of post-mortem. He passed so close she could smell the grease of the cart's delicacies.

***

Not only was Vetinari excellent at standing still, he quite enjoyed it. It was a chance to observe the city and her people without that annoying bubble of empty space that tended to surround an Assassin everywhere he went. He watched in amusement as the vendor ambled up to a man having a heated discussion with an associate and proceeded to endorse his merchandise.

The man glared at him angrily, waving his hands emphatically. The vendor's expression never changed and he continued to speak, ignoring the increasingly furious words of his would-be customer. 

Vetinari sidled closer, interested.

"Finest meats in the city, sir! My personal guarantee on that. Go on, sir, try one of the meat in a buns!"

The man stared at him in disbelief. "Meat in a buns? That's what you call them?" He said, fascinated despite himself. He looked at the food on the cart. "What meat are you talking about? No! Never mind! Just go away, I'm not hungry!" He turned, grabbing his friend by the arm and starting to walk off in the opposite direction. The vendor was already there.

"Go on, sir. I insist! Full money back guarantee!"

Vetinari shuffled a little nearer, blending in to the brickwork even as he moved. Well, he blended in until he tripped and fell flat on his face, anyhow.

***

Ienska gave a small shout as she tumbled forward. Something had kicked her feet out from under her. But she hadn't seen anyone, simply felt her feet shoved rather suddenly to the side.

And then she saw him. Or, rather, then she landed on top of him.

He didn't really seem to be there until she was just above the pavement, but then, just as she fell on him nearly full length, he was there, lying face down beneath her.

There was a moment of motionless silence. A few passersby who had seen, to their amazement, a girl suddenly appear falling to the street and a young man appear just as suddenly to break her fall paused to stare. As soon as they stopped moving, though, both of them seemed to vanish. The observers continued quickly on their ways, avoiding each others eyes. The phrases, _A girl, what girl? And a young man, you don't say?_ were imprinted studiously on their faces.

"Get off!" said the form sprawled underneath Ienska, starting to squirm. She quickly hauled herself to her feet, brushing the knees of her trousers off distractedly. The person who had broken her fall struggled to his feet as well.

"Where in the Disc did _you_ come from?" he hissed. He had the look about him of someone very unused to being surprised.

"I've been here for hours," said Ienska. "What about you?"

"I…I wasn't looking where I was going," he said, seeming to regain a calm composure.

"Yeah, right," said Ienska, eyeing him up and down. He had the look of a young gentleman about him, aside from the dust that now covered the front of his rich clothes. There was also a familiar air about him. "You're an Assassin, aren't you?" she asked, eyes narrowed.

He looked startled. He wasn't wearing the traditional black, which Ienska had thought was a requirement for Guild members, but maybe the Guild had finally wised up and allowed their members to wear colors that actually blended in well. This particular young man was dressed in a very dark green.

"How did you know that? I'm not in uniform," he said.

She shrugged. "You just look like an Assassin." This appeared to trouble him.

"Who are you?" he asked finally. 

Ienska mentally wrinkled her nose. It always came back to that, didn't it. Even here, in a huge city full of thousands of people, the first thing someone wanted to know was who you were, as if they'd remember. It seemed to be a peculiarity of human nature: when in doubt, ask who they are.

She held out her hand politely, anyhow. "Ienska Tineshan," she said.

He took her hand gingerly. _Not used to dealing with commoners, this one. That's Assassins for you._ She thought about that. _Not that I'm particularly common or anything._

"Havelock Vetinari," he said, trying a little flourish.

"Very nice to meet you," Ienska said carelessly. "Now, where did you say you came from?"

"What do you mean?" asked Vetinari cautiously.

"I've been standing here for ages and I didn't see you coming," she said, narrowing her eyes. "I don't usually miss things like someone tripping over me."

"Perhaps you should pay more attention in that case," said Vetinari. He checked his watch. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a job to do."

"Oh, and what's that?"

"There's supposed to be someone coming along in a few moments with whom I have a…appointment," he said.

"Bet he doesn't know you're coming," muttered Ienska.

"Naturally not."

"Why in the middle of a crowded street, then? Wouldn't it be easier to catch him somewhere else, somewhere alone?" she asked.

"Perhaps," answered Vetinari. "But there's no challenge in that." He looked up and down the road. "What exactly is a young lady such as yourself doing standing around in shadows for hours?"

"Oh, waiting for someone," she said.

He raised his eyebrows. "You are aware that killing without a license is murder?"

A look of disgust crossed Ienska's features. "I do not murder anyone. If you must know, I'm here to _stop_ someone being killed. There is, apparently a contract on his head that terminates in a few hours when he's sworn in to the Omnian priesthood. This is the last time he'll be out in public before then and the Assassin to whom the contract fell will undoubtedly…ah."

"Quite," said Vetinari calmly. "You don't appear to be the typical bodyguard."

"I'm not," she said, eyes momentarily watching something over his shoulder. "He doesn't even know I exist."

Vetinari frowned. She quickly drew her gaze back to his face. _Stupid,_ she thought. _Don't watch him._ "What sort of person risks their life for someone who doesn't know they exist?" he asked.

She shrugged, face brightening. "Well, I'll be about now that my job's done," she said cheerfully.

Vetinari whirled around. 

"That's right," she continued brightly. "Shouldn't ever turn your back on the building you think your target's going to be entering. They might do something original like come from the wrong direction."

He turned quite calmly around to face her again. "Then it seems that both of our jobs are over. Perhaps we shall meet again, in the course of business." But she was gone. 

After looking both ways along the street and even up the wall of the building, Vetinari shrugged and made his way back toward the Guild.

Ienska watched him go, leaning once more nonchalantly against the wall.


	2. Chapter 2

Vetinari ducked into a side alley and climbed quickly up a ladder. Hidden away on a part of the roof not visible from the street and usually reserved for pigeons, were the characteristic black clothes of an Assassin. He wasn't technically supposed to wear anything else, and certainly not while on an assignment, but the black stood out against the shadows much too well. Shrugging the clothes on, he dropped lightly back into the alley.

The Guild had been having problems for the last few months with a group of mysterious, apparently non-existent strangers who had been interfering with Guild business. Actually saving the marks from Assassins' blades. It was all a very romantic idea, but it was impractical. Who would actually bother? After all, if someone had made their way into the Guild's books, it meant they had upset someone with enough money to put them there, and that didn't bode for a long life anyhow.

That was the other thing. Most of the people that the new comers interfered with were low priority marks, not worth much at all in comparison. Take the soon to be priest that Vetinari had intended to inhume. He was worth practically nothing, only a couple hundred. That's why a student like Vetinari had been allowed to take the contract. And yet there had been someone there, waiting to save the man's life.

Up until then, Vetinari knew, no one had actually seen the mysterious interfering strangers. But that girl – Ienska Tineshan she'd called herself – had definitely been one of them. She was young though, perhaps even younger than Vetinari's own seventeen years. So perhaps she was only a student as well? But a student of what? Of the anti-Assassins? Somehow, that didn't sound right. But, then, none of it did.

***

Ienska hated Assassins. The idea of taking someone's money to kill someone set her blood boiling. If you were going to kill, it should at least be for decent reasons like self defense or revenge, not money, never money. And never from behind.

She did, however, have to grudgingly admire the young Assassin she'd met earlier that day. He had, if nothing else, _style_. The man he'd been sent to kill had been walking through a busy street in broad daylight. There was no doubt in Ienska's mind that, had she not managed to distract him, Vetinari would have been able to kill him. It was something about the way he carried himself.

And he hadn't been wearing black. The boy was smart, she'd give him that. Assassins seemed to have a blind spot when it came to black. They thought it blended in with the night, or that's what they said. Privately, Ienska thought they just liked it because they thought it looked dashing.

Despite the fact that he'd impressed her, Vetinari was lucky that Ienska was good at self restraint. It would have pleased her no end to deck him one. But he hadn't given her the chance, not really. He was too much of a gentleman. Which had annoyed her even more.

She'd beaten him anyhow. He had turned his back on the temple. She had barely been able to believe what she'd seen over his shoulder, as the intended mark was hurried through the golden doors.

But then, before he'd left, he'd made that comment about meeting again. She wasn't supposed to have met him the first time. Her Masters wouldn't be too pleased when word got back that the Assassins had seen her. And all because the fool had tripped over her feet!

***

Vetinari sat at his desk, finishing a report on the history of throwing daggers. He had had quite a long talk with Doctor Follett, the head of the Assassins' Guild. Or, rather, Doctor Follett had had quite a long talk with him. Either way, it had eaten up the rest of daylight so that Vetinari was forced to do the report by candle light.

For some reason he wasn't quite sure of, he hadn't told Follett about the girl. He'd simply said that there had been interference. Follett hadn't liked that. Vetinari smiled down at his paper.

***

She had been very busy all week, what with one thing and another. When the Masters had told them that Ankh-Morpork wouldn't be an easy gig, they had been serious. Ienska alone had already had to stop five assassinations, two potential street brawls, seven muggings, and no less than thirteen incidental murders.* She'd even had to draw steel once. And that was just her, the others had been just as busy, she was sure.  
[* Or what the local authorities referred to as suicides. Such as making derogatory comments about trolls while walking down Quarry Lane or mentioning that the ale seemed a little too watery.]

Now she was creeping across the roofs of Ankh-Morpork to save the life of a butcher who had angered a prominent family by refusing to kill a cow. Something about an ownership dispute. Regardless, it was her job to stop the Assassin that was supposed to be coming for him that night. 

She crouched down outside a window. It was open, swinging gently in the night air. _What sort of idiot leaves his window open when the Assassins are after him?_ Not that a closed window really made much difference to an Assassin, but it was the principle of the thing after all. At least if you closed it they had to do a little work to get in…she squinted at the window.

There were scratch marks by where the clasp would be if it were closed. She swore silently, melted into the shadows and climbed soundlessly into the room. 

***

Vetinari took a last glance around the spartan space. There was no sign of struggle, nothing that needed to be tidied up. It had been a very clean job and he was rather proud of it. He double checked the note that he had left beside the late butcher. It seemed right, all the information was there: who had commissioned the job, the price that had been paid, and his own signature.

Nodding in satisfaction he turned to exit through the still open window. And slammed into a figure that had approached silently through the darkness, sending it sprawling on the apartment floor. He frowned, very few people could sneak up on him.

Some instinct, bred into him after generations of courtly blood, sent his hand reaching into the gloom to help the figure to its feet. As its face came into the gentle street glow that filtered through the window, he recognized the features.

"Tineshan, I believe?" he said.

"Yes," she sighed. "I'm too late?" 

"Quite," he said, noticing how her eyes shone when she glanced at the corpse lying on the bed. "I believe this evens the score."

She looked at him, opened her mouth as if to say something but then shook her head in disgust instead. Wordlessly, she turned and climbed back out of the window.

***

Score. He kept score. With human life.

Ienska shivered in the warm night air.

***

Vetinari watched her climb out the window, very careful not to blink as she stepped out into the shadows and – disappeared. It wasn't that she blended in with shadows or even stopped moving. 

Cautiously, he climbed out and made a thorough search of the rooftop. She was just gone. 

Which meant one of two things. Either she knew some magic, or she was very, very good at the game that Vetinari had played his whole life. The game where being seen meant death and moving unnoticed meant victory.

He stared into the gloom, calculating.


	3. Chapter 3

Ienska stood, unmoving, in the shadow of a doorway. She was watching for movement in the shadows, a patch of darkness just a little too black to be natural. She had been watching since sundown.

The distant city clocks began striking midnight.*  
[*The clocks in Ankh-Morpork ring individually and time is established by general consensus. Firstly, the clock at the Teacher's Guild will strike, followed by the multitude of clocks throughout the rest of the city until the whole place rings with the sound of clocks** until, finally, the clock at the Assassin's Guild strikes its final chord. The Assassins always have the final say.  
**Except, of course, when the University clock, Old Tom, tolls out its silences. Then the whole town rings _intermittently_ with the sound of striking clocks.]

Ienska tensed, thinking she heard the fall of footsteps on the deserted street. After a moment, though, no one appeared and she went back to her motionless vigil.

Usually, of course, it would be pointless to wait for an Assassin by the front door. The house she was guarding, however, had been designed by Ankh-Morpork's infamous Bloody Stupid Johnson, the worst designer in history. The three story building was built with intricate detail, the interior molded lovingly and the craftsmanship was flawless. The design, on the other hand, was not. No where inside was there a stair case or, indeed, even a hole in the floor of the upper stories that would allow passage with a ladder. Johnson had also forgotten a few other details. Such as doors or windows to the outside.

The single passage that Ienska stood by had been gouged out of the wall by the workmen who had found themselves trapped inside the building once they finished the job and was later equipped with an ill-fitting door.

A light breeze brushed Ienska's cheek. If she hadn't been dead still already, she would have froze. This was Ink Street. The whole street had been designed by B. S. Johnson and, as a freak accident, the structures had formed a perfect windshield. No breezes blew here.

Slowly, deliberately, still willing herself unseen, Ienska stuck her leg out across the entryway at ankle height and squinted. Something kicked her leg and fell against the door.

There, just barely visible against the old, rotting woodwork, was a human form. Wearing something that most definitely was not black. Ienska straightened.

"Good evening, Mr. Vetinari," she said, allowing herself to be seen.

He stood up, rubbing his forehead. "Good evening to you as well," he said. "I don't suppose you're going to let me by, are you?" he sighed.

"Not a chance," she said, laying her hand lightly on the sword that hung from her waist.

Vetinari blinked and dropped his hand to his side. "Ms. Tineshan, I believe we need to talk," he said. 

"What about?" she asked. Talk? With an Assassin?

"We seem to have a mutual problem," he said. "Allow me to buy you a cup of coffee while we discuss it?"

Her eyes narrowed. "I don't drink coffee…especially not when I don't know what exactly might be in it."

"Now, that's not fair," he said in a hurt voice. "There are such things as ethics and professional morality."

"You kill people for a living," she said in a calm, measured voice.

"We prefer the term inhume."

"I bet you do. I prefer the term fair fight."

"Regardless of your personal feelings toward the members of my profession," said Vetinari. "The fact remains that I would never kill someone that I was not specifically contracted to. And we do need to talk."

Ienska glanced at the door. "And no one else is going to come for him?"

"Of course not, he is – was my assignment," said Vetinari.

Well, at least if she went with him to talk he wouldn't be killing anyone. And this was her last assignment tonight. 

"Fine," she said. "But I would much prefer if we held this discussion outdoors."

"As you wish," he said and motioned for her to lead. _Why's he have to be so polite?_ She wondered bitterly as he fell into step beside her.

There was a moments silence as each waited for the other to speak.

"You seem quite adept at concealing yourself, Miss Tineshan," he said once it was evident that Ienska was not going to start the discussion.

"As do you," she said, trying very hard to sound polite yet uninterested. It wasn't working very well.

"May I inquire where you learned your skills, Miss Tineshan?" he asked.

"You may," she said, remembering exactly why she had hated speaking with nobility so much. They made everything into a game of parry and thrust. And still, there was something about this young man that wouldn't allow her true disinterest.

Quite suddenly, he broke into a low chuckle. "You also seem very adept at the games the higher class play to make themselves feel important," he said. She looked up at him, startled.

He was only a little taller than herself but something about him made his presence seem enormous. Except, she reminded herself, when he didn't want it to be.

"Thank you." She finally gave up. It was quite obvious that he wasn't going to leave her alone and it was becoming apparent, if the past few weeks were any indication, that she would be seeing him constantly. "And please call me Ienska," she said.

He nodded. "And you may call me Havelock, if you must," he said. "I would, however, prefer it if you could say it without laughing." He paused as they reached a main street and steered her toward an arcing bridge. "Now, to the matter at hand. We seem to be running into each other far more often than is particularly convenient."

"I'd noticed," said Ienska. "But unless your superiors are willing to let you…" She trailed off as a desperate, late night vendor trundled up to them.

"Sausage in a bun, sir?" he asked hopefully, waving something through the dark air.

Vetinari gave the man a distasteful look. "I think not," he said.

"What about for your young lady?" the man asked, a glint in his eye.

Ienska turned on him, eyes flashing against all logic, since there was no light for them to reflect. "His what?" she said in a very low voice.

"I – I…" the man stammered. Then he did something that no street vendor in the history of Ankh-Morpork had ever done without the threat of cold steel at their throat: he turned and ran, pulling his lopsided cart behind him, from what could still be considered potential customers.

Ienska glared after the man, but Vetinari watched him go with an odd expression on his face.

"There was no call to be quite so…forceful," he said at length.

"I didn't do anything to him," said Ienska, still fuming.

"Ah," said Vetinari and paused. "I'm not sure whether I should be insulted by your reaction to his mistake. It was quite an honest one, after all."

Ienska shrugged. "Your choice, I don't really care either way."

"Of course." Vetinari began strolling toward the bridge once more. "Now, about our…difficulty. I don't suppose you could be persuaded to split the assignments fairly?"

"What, like you get to kill half and I get to save half?" He nodded. "No! That's disgusting. I will not barter with human life." She turned to face him, they were in the center of the bridge now. "Not ever. So you'd best come up with another solution."

He waited for her to finish quite patiently. "I expected as much. However, I believe I have more than human life to barter with. My superiors at the Guild would be most interested to hear about you, and would be very pleased indeed to meet you personally."

"You haven't told them yet?" she asked, surprised.

"It didn't seem prudent at the time," he said.

"You're threatening me, aren't you?" asked Ienska, her voice hard. Vetinari didn't move a muscle. "It won't work."

"Oh?"

Her eyes narrowed. "Because, you see, I have other things to bargain with as well."

"Oh?" he said again.

"Oh yes," said Ienska, relaxing slightly and allowing her hands to fall to her side. But still very near her sword hilt. "For instance, I was very much under the impression that Assassins wear black. I might go so far as to say that I thought it was a requirement. Perhaps your superiors will explain to me the sudden change in policy."

"Ah," he said, glancing down at his own, dark green and gray clothes.

"Yes."

Both of them stared into the river for a few moments. Eventually, though, they looked away in disgust.* In the middle of the bridge, however, there wasn't much else to look at except for each other.  
[*Before entering the city of Ankh-Morpork, the river Ankh flows quite clearly and freely. This is not the case, however, once it enters the city. Within the city boundaries, the river doesn't so much flow as it slowly congeals as it oozes along its bed. It's the only river in the world whose surface can be marked with footprints.]

"Any more solutions?" asked Ienska.

Vetinari frowned. "I didn't think I would need more," he said.

"Right," she said. "Well, in that case, I'll see you at the next assassination."

But Vetinari had been waiting for her to vanish, and he had a very good memory. His arm shot out to where she had been standing a moment before and, as if the touch was all it took, she snapped back into clear focus.

"Let go of me!" she said, quite loudly.

"I don't think so," said Vetinari, infuriatingly calm. "You have a tendency of vanishing."

Footsteps echoed across the bridge as someone ran toward them. As the sound grew nearer, the footsteps slowed.

"Who in their right mind is out at this hour?" hissed Ienska.

Vetinari looked at her, eyebrows raised. "In Ankh-Morpork?* But it's probably the Watch. Your screaming might have caught someone's attention. Don't move." She glared at him.  
[* They say the city never sleeps. They're right, it hardly even dozes. This is because it is afraid to close its eyes and, considering its inhabitants, this could be seen as a very wise choice.]

It was one thing to make herself blend into the surroundings, it was something totally different to do so with someone clinging to her arm. She thought for a moment of going the other way, attracting the attention of everyone in the area, but decided not to. They'd never be able to find Vetinari anyhow. She faded.

"Well?" said Vetinari in a quiet voice. 

"Well what?" she hissed.

"Are you going to vanish or not?"

She rolled her eyes. "I'm vanished already."

"I can still see you."

"It's hard not to notice someone when you're holding them prisoner!" she whispered.

"Ah."

The footsteps crept out onto the bridge now, very slowly. Slowly enough to give anyone truly dangerous time to run. A man crept out to the center of the bridge and looked owlishly around.

"Hello?" he called. "Anyone there?" No answer. He straightened, seeming to gain confidence in the lack of response. "This is the City Watch! Anyone who needs help should scream now!" He paused, listening for an answer. Then, apparently satisfied, he continued across the bridge, careful not to look to either side in case he saw something or someone slowly sinking into the river.

He passed right by the two young lurkers, near enough for them to smell cheap soap and polish on his armor. 

The footsteps faded.

Ienska was still glaring at Vetinari.

"Well?" she said.

Vetinari sighed. "There does not seem to be a mutually beneficial resolution to our problem," he said. 

"No, there doesn't."

"Perhaps, then, we could simply consider it a friendly competition?" he suggested.

__

What sort of person is_ he?_ wondered Ienska. 

"Mr. Vetinari," she began.

He held up his free hand. "Havelock, please," he said.

"Kindly unhand me," she continued, ignoring him. "I do not think we have anything further to discuss."

His face assumed a calculating expression. "I will let go," he said. "If you agree to remain here for a few moments more."

She tugged suddenly, trying to free her arm, but his grip was steady. She relaxed. "Very well. Let's hear what you have to say."

***

Vetinari watched the girl's retreating back, right up to the point where it vanished, anyhow. He sighed. He had hoped she would prove more reasonable regarding their current situation. As it was, the only thing that had kept her on the bridge after he released her was the promise she'd made.

She seemed to have very definite ideas about the sanctity of life. Pity. 

Other than that, however, she seemed to be a quite reasonable individual. Perhaps, in time, she would come round and see the logic of an arrangement. For now, he would just have to out fox her.

Which proved difficult.

It didn't seem to matter which window, door, or more original entrance he found to access his quarry, it was always the one that Ienska chose to stand guard at. More often than not, he would trip over her, run into her, or otherwise be injured by her on his way into a job. At that point, there wasn't much he could do. It was obvious from the way her hand rested on her sword that she knew how to use it and, besides, he couldn't kill her without a contract.

Sometimes, though, he would get there first. Every time he exited from a completed job he held his breath, expecting to see her there, waiting. When he didn't, he breathed out and went happily about his day. When he did, there were a few more issues. For example, the look on her face. She always looked so upset. And it wasn't as if the recently inhumed were personal friends of hers, they hadn't even known she existed, she'd said so herself. And she would never talk to him, not when he came out. 

As time wore on, they came almost close to being friends, at least by the Assassin's definition of friends. They didn't try to kill each other, for one thing. They even held some interesting conversations, usually after Vetinari picked himself up off the ground. But she would never talk to him when he came out from a job. She just looked, eyes bright, and vanished.

It was, almost, disquieting.


	4. Chapter 4

Ienska didn't get very many days off, the Master's said there weren't enough people as it was. But, once in a while, she got a few days to herself. A few days that didn't involve throwing herself in harm's way for strangers, getting mixed up in domestic disputes, and, above all, did not in any way involve Vetinari.

On one such day, as spring was making it's way across Ankh-Morpork and bathing everything in the fresh light of re-birth,* she found herself sitting on the roof of an abandoned house. It was near the palace and so had a decent view of the city – though why anyone would _want_ a decent view was beyond her comprehension – but, in recent years, had fallen into disrepair.** Despite that, the roof was solid and slightly slanted, making it a comfortable and mildly quiet place to sit. The air seemed cleaner above the streets, too.  
[* Even after re-birth, filth is filth and muck is muck. This _was_ Ankh-Morpork, after all.  
** Which is to say, it was used as target practice and an artistic canvas for the city's youth.]

A startled exclamation caused Ienska to turn. People occasionally made their way around the city by way of the roofs, and she had seen a few others cross this particular roof before. She groaned. It wasn't fair, it really wasn't fair.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, nearly growling.

"Going for a stroll," said Vetinari, walking over to where she sat. "I have a few days off and thought I'd make the most of it. I figured you'd be out saving lives."

"Yeah, well, it's my weekend off," she said, disgruntled. "I figured you'd be out killing – sorry, inhuming people."

"No such luck," he said, staring out across the cityscape. "I don't suppose…" he trailed off, frowning.

"What?" asked Ienska.

"Nothing," he said. He was still standing, looming over Ienska in a way that made her feel…totally unthreatened. And that annoyed her. He was an Assassin, for goodness sake! She should feel, well…something. She should not feel comfortable with him standing over her.

"You might as well sit down," she said, hoping that would banish the nagging feeling of unthreatening behavior. It didn't. Perhaps it would have, if he had sat cautiously, in a position that could easily be given to standing up quickly, but he didn't. He _sprawled_. Sitting back on his elbows with his legs stretched out in front of him.

"Comfortable?" Ienska asked, still irritated.

"Very, thank you," he said, gazing up at the sky. His eyes seemed to be the same color as the early spring sky…well, the color the early spring sky probably was far above the muddy, discolored air of the city. It gave his face a rather odd effect, like he was reflecting the heavens. Ienska shook herself.

"I suppose you come here often?" she said.

He shrugged. "Sometimes. It's got a…extensive view," he said, avoiding words like 'excellent' or 'good' that might imply somehow that the view was pleasant.

"I suppose I'll have to find somewhere else to spend my days off, then," said Ienska, rather put off by the fact that, not only was her sanctuary taken, but taken by _him._

"Oh, I don't mind," said Vetinari, as if she had asked him.

"I do," she said. He looked at her, an expression somewhere between amusement and puzzlement dancing across his face.

"Why?" he asked.

"Because…" Because why? Because he was an Assassin! But…not really. She wouldn't have minded if some other Assassin had this place already, she would simply have left. He expected her to talk to him, though. To hold civil conversations, as if their lives weren't dedicated to the destruction of everything to other symbolized. She settled for, "Because I prefer being alone on my days off."

"I see." He didn't move, just kept staring up at the sky. Several minutes passed. "Well?" he said.

"Well what?" snapped Ienska.

"I thought you were leaving? To find an uninhabited roof?"

She clenched her fists. And she had so been looking forward to her days off. "Right." She stood up and looked around, uncertain. She hadn't really been in Ankh-Morpork very long, and certainly hadn't had time to explore beyond what her daily duty called for. She had no idea where to go. Several more minutes passed.

"I really don't mind, you know," said Vetinari from shin height. He was still lounging unconcernedly on the roof. "You can stay if you want."

Relieved for some reason she couldn't, or didn't want to, identify, Ienska sank back down. "Fine," she said. "But only for today. Tomorrow I'll find somewhere else to go."

There was silence. She looked over at Vetinari. His eyes were closed. He appeared very much to be asleep. Ienska stared in disbelief for a moment before turning her attention back out to the city, bustling seven stories below her.

"Don't bother," said Vetinari suddenly. Ienska nearly jumped. His eyes were still closed.

"What?" she said.

"Don't bother to find somewhere else," he said. He opened his eyes and looked at her. They really were very blue. "I can tell when I'm not wanted. I've lived in this city for a long time, I have other roofs. You can have this one."

"You're giving me the roof?" she said, voice full of sarcasm – though she wasn't quite sure why.

He shrugged, still watching her. "Why not. You seem to like it, so take it. It's your roof now."

"Does that mean you'll leave?" she asked, suspicious.

"If you like," he said, voice level. 

For a few moments she just watched him. He didn't move at all – not the motionless state that resulted in near invisibility, but a relaxed sort of not moving.

"You really enjoy these games, don't you?" she asked at last.

"Games?" he said innocently.

"Yes, games," she said. "The ones that give you power over other people."

He frowned. "How so? I believe, if I was paying attention to the correct conversation, I just gave _you_ power over _me,_" he said.

"We both know you didn't," Ienska said. "Or, you didn't give me more than a fraction of the power over you that you would gain over me if I accepted power over you." There was a pause as both of them sorted out that sentence. "What I _mean_," Ienska said finally. "Is that, if I allowed you to give me power, that would be admitting that you have the power to give it to me in the first place."

"Ah," said Vetinari. There was another pause. "Exactly which one of us is it that enjoys these games, again?"

Ienska's eyes hardened.

"Never mind," said Vetinari. He looked back up at the sky. "I take it I can stay, then?"

"It's a not-quite-democratic, semi-free city," said Ienska. "You can do whatever you like."

"And you'll be staying as well?" he asked.

"It's my roof."

A confused expression flickered across Vetinari's face. "I was under the impression that I didn't have the power to give it to you?"

"You don't," said Ienska. "But you don't have the power to take it away either."

"Ah."

There was silence again. Quite a long one and, so far as Ienska was concerned, far to comfortable and relaxed. This was not how things were supposed to work. The air should be full of tension and mutual dislike…of course, if that were true, one of them would probably have left after the first hour or two. One of them would most definitely not be dozing happily.

As the sun sank below the horizon, or, rather, the top of the city wall and roofs of houses that comprised the Ankh-Morpork horizon, Vetinari stretched and sat up.

"Well, it's been a pleasant afternoon, Ienska," he said. Ienska started at the sound of her first name, he'd never used it before and it sounded all together too familiar. But she'd told him to and couldn't really tell him not to now. "But I must be going. I've lessons tonight." He rolled lazily to his feet.

"Good evening, in that case, Havelock," she said, deliberately using his first name as well. He seemed unfazed.

He started to walk away, but stopped after a few steps and turned back. "You know, you just might be one of the most interesting people I've ever met." With that, he turned and left.

Ienska stared after him in disbelief.


	5. Chapter 5

Now why exactly had he said that? It was true, of course, but that didn't explain why he'd felt the need to say it out loud. He shook his head as he leapt over onto the next roof. Stranger things had happened, he supposed. He tried very hard to remember one.

It wasn't that Vetinari never paid anyone compliments – and he did consider what he'd said a compliment, a very large compliment. It was that he never paid anyone compliments without a reason. Compliments were like gold. You hoarded them until there was something you wanted or needed, and then you spent them as was required. There had been nothing about the situation that required a compliment.

Ah well, he'd have to consider the matter later. Right now he was late for his etiquette class.*  
[* Assassins are, after all, gentlemen of good standing and are expected to know which spoon is appropriate for custard as well as which dagger is appropriate for an elderly gentleman wearing silk.]

That was something else. Vetinari was never late. He had known, when the clocks were about half way through striking four, that it was time for him to go. And yet he had stayed on that ridiculous roof for another half an hour. Admittedly, it had been quite comfortable, but that didn't explain his uncharacteristic behavior.

It was almost as if…but, no, that was ridiculous. Still, he would have to pay a visit to the Book Master of the Assassin's Guild the next day and see if he couldn't get a Writ of Exemption for Ienska. As he had said, she was one of the most interesting people he'd ever met, it would be a shame to find a commission on her head.

***

The next day, Ienska found herself on the roof again. Given the alternatives, which mostly involved walking through dirty streets among filthy people, it wasn't really surprising. Besides, she walked every day.

She wasn't the least bit surprised when Vetinari showed up again.

"Good morning, Ienska," he said.

"You've decided to take full advantage of the fact I told you that you don't have to leave, haven't you?" she said. "I thought you had other roofs?" She paused. "And good morning to you too," she sighed. It was impossible. Here she was, trying to stand by her beliefs, and he kept coming back and dissecting them one by one.

He sat down, comfortably but not the sprawl he'd affected the day before. "Lovely day, isn't it?" he asked.

Ienska raised her eyebrows and looked out at the early morning air. It was worse than the late night air and, at the very least, thicker than the afternoon air.* There seemed to be some sort of smell wafting up from the docks. "Are you all right?" she asked.  
[* This is because the fog of Ankh-Morpork has some very interesting qualities. Including a semi-solid state that lasts well into the mid-morning. Incidentally, there is an insect – known as a fog sitter – that has developed a sort of symbioses with the fog. During the night and early morning, the fog sitter, which is flightless, crawls across from building to building on the tendrils that wisp up to the higher levels of the streets. No fog sitter has touched the ground in fifty generations.]

He frowned. "Not really. But it doesn't matter." He looked around. "Do you spend all of your free time up here, then?"

Ienska shrugged. "Most of it. I'll probably be here until tomorrow morning, anyhow."

"What, without leaving at all?" asked Vetinari.

"Well," said Ienska delicately, cheeks coloring slightly. "I might leave once or twice, but not for long, no."

"Of course," he said, sounding embarrassed. "Do you always spend your night on rooftops?"

"The air's cleaner. Besides, I go back on duty tomorrow," she said. "Why are you so curious all of the sudden?"

Vetinari shrugged. "What exactly is your duty?" he asked.

Ienska looked him straight in the eye, she'd been dreading that question. Especially since she didn't seem to be able to lie to him. Which annoyed her. There was a moment's pause, but Vetinari didn't seem to notice. "Mostly stopping you, lately," she said at last.

"Not always," he said.

Ienska's throat tightened. "No, not always," she said very softly. He watched her as she fought back tears, an odd expression on his face. She'd seen the ones he had managed to kill…oh, so sorry, _inhume_. She hated that word. It made the whole business seem somehow acceptable, civilized.

"I'm sorry," he said at last.

She shrugged, furious with herself. "Yeah, sure. Tell the corpses," she said.

"Don't be ridiculous," Vetinari said. "I'm not sorry about inhuming them, that's my job." She looked at him, eyes still a little blurry. He had a very…intense? yes, that seemed to be the right word…expression on his face. "I'm sorry I upset you. I should have known better."

"Why should you care?" Ienska asked, rather sharply. "Why do you keep coming back, for that matter? What did I ever do to make you think I wanted to talk with you?"

"Nothing," he said. But he didn't move. "And I don't know why I care or why I keep coming back, and I don't think it really matters. All I said was 'I'm sorry,' and that's all I meant to say."

"Right," said Ienska, regaining her composure. "And I'm sorry as well, I had no right to behave like that…" _What on the Disc am I saying?_ She was treating him like…well, like a friend. This was not right. She should not feel at all comfortable with him, she should not be sitting with him on a roof discussing the weather and recent assassinations they had both attended. They should be fighting to the death, that was how it was supposed to work. That's what the Masters said should happen. And it wasn't happening, she was very, very sure it wasn't happening. 

She was less sure what actually was happening.


	6. Chapter 6

Lord Scribet had been the Book Master at the Assassin's Guild for nearly forty years. He was very proud of his books. They contained, in minute detail, every assassination for the past several centuries, the last several volumes in his own handwriting. There, carefully penned in, were the names of every commissioner and every quarry next to the price of the given quarry's inhuming and the signature of the Assassin who had performed the honors.

He looked up from his paper strewn desk at the sound of footfalls.

"Ah," he said once the young man was in his office. "Havelock Vetinari, isn't it? Managed to secure another commission this week? I must say, you seem to be receiving a good number lately."

"No," said Vetinari, glancing at the stacks of books lining the small space. "I'm here about a Writ of Exemption."

"I see," said Lord Scribet knowingly, pulling a book out from his desk. It was much, much thinner than the other tombs that filled the room. "And who is the young lady?"

"How did you know that?" asked Vetinari sharply.

Scribet looked up at the young man. "I have been doing this for a very long time. Now, her name please? I must check her against our records to be assured that she is not already under commission."

"Ienska Tineshan," Vetinari said reluctantly.

The Book master flipped through a thick volume. "T…Tin…" He looked up. "She does not appear to be under commission," he said cheerfully. "Now, I just have to check in the city records to find some information about her…" he shuffled over to a very large filing cabinet and pulled open a drawer that said, in Assassin's code, T. He flipped through a number of names. He flipped through twice. Three times. He pulled out a card and stared at it. He looked at Vetinari.

"Oh dear."

***

The night air was very quiet up on the roof, only the distant sounds of shouts and squeaky vending carts broke the silence. Ienska had been on all the trips down to street level that she required for the time being and was settling in to enjoy the night.

Most people wouldn't feel too comfortable sleeping on a slanted roof, but Ienska preferred that to the alternatives, which involved a dorm full of girls coming and going at all hours as they went about their assignments.

Ienska drew her knees up and wrapped her arms around them, enjoying the solitude and quiet.

And then there was an arm wrapped around her, constraining her, and the feel of cold steel at her throat…very sharp cold steel. She froze.

"Who are you?" asked a cold, dispassionate voice.

It was useless to try and disappear, anyone in contact with her wouldn't be fooled unless they were very, very stupid, and anyone who could creep up on her was not stupid. As a matter of fact, only one person had ever been able to creep up on her.

"Havelock?" she whispered, careful not to move as she spoke.

"Who are you?" the voice asked again, sounding very much like Havelock Vetinari. But why would he ask that?

"I…you know who I am." The knife pressed closer, stopping a hair's breath short of drawing blood and an infinitesimal amount more short of slitting her throat.

"I know who Ienska Tineshan is," he said. "She's a Countess who died in the revolution…hundreds of years ago." 

"Is she?" asked the girl, trying to press her head back enough to speak safely but only succeeding in making herself more uncomfortable. "Probably an ancestor. Though you'd think the Masters would have told me…"

"What Masters?" asked Vetinari, voice pitched low. He sounded calm. He sounded dangerous.

"_The_ Masters," she said. "How did you find all this out?" It seemed ridiculous to ask a question like that with a dagger pressed against her flesh, but it slipped out anyway.

"I tried to take out a Writ of Exemption on one Ienska Tineshan," he said softly. "The Book Master was _most_ interested in my request, once he found the card. So either you look very, very good for your age, or you're not who you say you are."

"Or I'm not in the city records," she said quietly. A Writ of Exemption? He was gripping very tightly now, obviously furious, though you'd never know it from the tone of his voice.

"Everyone's in the records," he said bitterly. "It's the only thing in this stinking city that works."

"But I'm not in there," she said, the dagger was causing a very serious dent in her higher reasoning skills and concentration. "Look, let me go. I promise I won't go anywhere until I've explained." The steel still pressed against her throat. Vetinari didn't say a word. "This is ridiculous," she said. "You came here looking for answers, and I'll give them to you. But it's very hard to collect one's thoughts with the threat of immediate…inhuming. I swear I won't run. I won't even vanish."

After a moment the blade was withdrawn and the arm around her loosened, though it didn't let go. "Fine," said Vetinari, voice flat. "But if you do try to run, you know I'll find you. And I'm not really in the mood to deal with contracts and commissions tonight." The arm dropped, leaving her free. She turned to face him, kneeling down on the rough material of the roof.

"You have to promise not to tell anyone what I'm about to tell you," she said, shivering despite the warm air. What she was planning on doing went against everything she had been raised to, every neuron in her brain was screaming in protest. She told them to go hang themselves.

He narrowed his eyes in disbelief. "I'm sorry, I was under the impression that I was the one being sworn to, not the other way around."

"Please." She couldn't believe it, she was almost in tears now. All he had to do was say yes. "You have to swear, an oath that you won't break. I – I can't say anything otherwise."

"You had best talk, then," said Vetinari. "I'll swear afterwards." He twirled the dagger. "If I see why it requires an oath, that is."

What choice did she have? Well, at the very least, she could be composed about it. And that's what it came back to, those stupid games. Never let anyone know what you're thinking, always look like you know what you're doing. She hated those games with a burning passion, but for the moment she retreated into their familiar twists and turns with something very much like relief.

"We've only been in Ankh-Morpork for a few weeks, we – I don't think I've ever heard an actual name for us – arrived about five days before you tripped over me…the first time, that is. The Masters said that we were needed here, that no where else on the Disc was in more need of protection. That's what we do, protect. Not the rich and important people, they can afford bodyguards and, besides, they usually deserve what they've got coming. We protect the people who acquire enemies by being honest and moral. Not just from assassination, but from everyday things like street brawls and what the police around here call suicide. I know it sounds stupid, and our charter says a lot of stuff about 'Staying Fate's Hand' and the like, but that's not what really matters. What matters is that people walking home from work late at night, when they hear footsteps following them, can hope that someone will spring out of the shadows, chase away their pursuit and disappear again. And I know that sounds even worse…but that's how it is. And the Patrician…Lord Snapcase, he doesn't like the idea of that. He doesn't like that there are people willing to do something for nothing. It doesn't fit with his view of the world. So the Masters kept us out of the city records, to protect us. That's all. I didn't lie, I really am Ienska Tineshan, and I had no idea that there was ever a Countess Tineshan," she said it all very calmly, though a bit more quickly than normal conversation would dictate. As she spoke, Vetinari's face grew steadily more horrified.

"You're the Hero's Guild, you're actually in the Hero's Guild," he said when she finished, spitting the words as if they were filth.

"The what?" asked Ienska.

"The Hero's Guild," he said again. "That's forbidden…if anyone knew…"

"I don't know what you're talking about but you have to swear not to tell anyone," she said, nervous. Vetinari's eyes had acquired a distant look reminiscent of a pit bull wondering when the last time such a big bone fell at its feet was. "Please. If the Masters find out I told someone I don't know what they'll do. It won't be peasant." She shivered again.

To her shock, Vetinari reached out and took her hands. "All right, I swear," he said. "But you have to get out."

"What?" she pulled her hands away. "What do you mean get out?"

"You have to leave," he said urgently. "There's a reason that a Hero's Guild is forbidden. Something about being a Hero, it goes to people's heads…it doesn't work, something just goes wrong. I don't know what, but after a while people stop being people and start being just Heroes, and then they start thinking things and doing things they shouldn't. You have to get out." In the time that Ienska had known him, Vetinari had never seemed anything but composed, now there was tone in his voice very akin to panic, and it confused her.

"You don't understand. I've never done anything else, the Masters raised me, raised us all," she said, confused. "Why would I leave? And in a few years I'll be able to be Interned, then I'll…." she trailed off. Then what? Internment came at nineteen, everyone knew that. But…no one knew what happened after the Internment Rituals. The Masters said a lot of stuff about going on to see and do even better things. But they said the same things when someone was killed…Ienska shook her head. This was ridiculous. "You said you swear?" she said, trying to change the subject. He nodded. "By what?"

"What do you mean?"

"You have to swear by something, that's how it works," she said.

"Like what?" he asked carefully.

"I don't know! Something important to you."

"Ah." He seemed calmer now. "Then I swear by your leaving the Hero's Guild."

"What?" she asked, eyes flying wide.

"Yes, that works nicely," he said.

"You can't do that!" she said, furious. "That's another one of your games. You don't have that power over me."

"I rather think I do," he said. But he was watching her. After a moment he seemed to reach a decision. "Very well, then I swear by my father's dagger." That sounded right to Ienska.

"Good, then I'd best be going," she said.

"I thought you said you were going to spend the whole night up here?"

"Oh, yes," she said, realizing that it wasn't even midnight yet. "In that case, I'd best go to sleep. I have a busy day tomorrow."

"Of course."

It was infuriating the way that he acted as if nothing had happened, that he hadn't held a dagger to her throat, that she hadn't just told him the one thing she was forbidden to say. It was frightening that she was able to pretend, too.

She lay down and curled up slightly, trying to will herself to sleep. After a moment, she opened her eyes again. "Aren't you leaving?"

"I rather like it here, thank you."

"Ah. Well, try not to make any noise." With that, Ienska managed to fall asleep. Even in her dreams it annoyed her that she felt safe enough to sleep with him there.


	7. Chapter 7

Vetinari looked over at the sleeping form. A Hero's Guild. That explained so much. But it also left a lot of questions and threw several more into the pot. The most pressing one being "Why?"

For power, undoubtedly. That was the usual game. And these Masters seemed to have complete control over the people they directed. Like Ienska. It was strange to hear those words come out of her mouth, she always seemed so independent. Now it appeared that everything she did was a puppet like reaction to the words of these Masters.

But Heroes never worked. They started to think of themselves as too powerful, and there was no Guild there to stop them. A Hero's Guild should, in theory, but they didn't…it became more of a competition than a Guild. That's what the history books said. There had been Hero's Guilds once, oh yes. And they had fallen, dragging a great deal of several cities along with them. Because, in time, Heroes became nothing more than gang leaders, trying to outsmart the other gang leaders. And they thought they had the right to judge who deserved to live and who deserved to die.

Even the Assassins didn't do that. Yes, they accepted others' opinions on the matter, but only for money. That was the important part, the humanizing part. It gave you something to keep score with, something that didn't involve personal power over others' lives. The money was important. But Heroes never accepted money.

He sat down next to Ienska. He'd thought he'd had her for a moment, with the oath. But then he'd seen her eyes. This was something she had to decide to do for herself. And if she didn't decide soon, or decided the wrong thing, well, his father had been an accountant.

***

The next morning Ienska made her way through the city. She had a few hours before her first assignment and needed to clear her head. The previous night's events had been…unsettling. She fingered the thin red line on her neck ruthfully. It was a good thing Vetinari knew how to handle that dagger of his, or she might be short a head. Which would have been a problem, because she needed to think.

Hero's Guild, he'd called them. Yes, that fit she supposed. And the other things he had said, about doing things you shouldn't, about people not being people anymore. She realized with a jolt that she had never, in her entire life, thought of the Masters as people. They were the Masters, cold eyed men who sat very straight and said what was right and what was wrong. Not instructed, not taught, but said. Their word was law to the ones who served under them.

And then there was the Internment. She had always assumed that the Interned went out into the world and did what they'd always done. But you'd think someone would have come back, at least once. They never did. 

Right after the Ritual, they were escorted out of whatever building they were staying in by the Masters. The Masters walked in a ring around them, signifying the protection that would follow into the world – or preventing escape. Ienska shook her head, confused. And then they were never seen again. The Masters came back into the room, smiling, and said goodnight to everyone before retiring to their own chambers. Oh, and they sent their gloves and cloaks with the newly Interned, for protection…gloves and cloaks that, Ienska realized quite clearly, could very well be covered with blood.

The Masters had absolute power over the lives of those they raised. Absolute power…that was what they said made the Assassins evil. But Vetinari didn't seem evil, he seemed very warm and human in comparison with the Masters – though she supposed the words wouldn't describe him in comparison to anyone else. But the Masters, in a certain light, did seem evil. In daylight, as a matter of fact, or, if you thought about it, even in candle light.

Ienska stopped dead in the middle of the street. 

An ox pulling a cart down the street blinked as a girl disappeared while he watched.

A furrow seemed to form down the middle of the street, a space no one noticed making its way very definitely toward the City Gates.


	8. Chapter 8

Vetinari was distracted. He'd made a mess of his latest assignment, poor old chap. He looked around the room, searching for some way to make the whole scene more acceptable to whoever found it. There was a rap on the door. This really couldn't be good.

It was a credit to how very distracted he was that he padded over and cracked it open. He closed his eyes for a moment. "You probably don't want to come in hear right now," he said, exhausted.

"Oh. I suppose the gates will be opening late, then?"

There was a pause.

"You're not here to protect the innocent, then?" he asked.

"Haven't met one yet," said Ienska. 

Vetinari stepped out of the gatehouse, careful to keep the door as tightly closed as possible. It really was rather messy.

"You're leaving then?" he said.

"Yes. I need some space to think." Ienska looked up at the high walls. "I suppose I could climb over them."

"You could," said Vetinari. They both looked at the walls. "Or we could just open the gate."

"Yes, that would work," said Ienska.

It was the work of only a few moments to breach the city walls.

"Will you be coming back, then?" asked Vetinari.

Ienska shrugged. "Don't know. Maybe. When the Masters have moved on."

"That," said Vetinari tactfully, "may be sooner than you think. Right after I tell Doctor Follett, as a matter of fact."

"But you swore by your father's dagger!" she said.

"Yes, interesting, that. My father was an accountant."

"Ah. No daggers, then?"

"A few rather sharp letter openers but, no, no daggers."

They stood there for a moment, Ienska just outside the City Gates on the road and Vetinari inside the walls.

"Well, goodbye then," said Ienska after a few moments.

"Yes, goodbye."

There was another moment's silence and Ienska turned and started down the road, fading away into the early morning mist.

***

The wizards say that time splits itself every time a decision is made, forming into multiple futures. A rather large rift formed as Ienska made her way out into the world.

  
In one future, Vetinari stayed where he was for a few moments before going silently back into the gatehouse and tidying up a bit. He went back to the Assassin's Guild, where he studied for years all the ways to kill a person. He became Patrician and studied for years all the ways to make a person very, very uncomfortable. He made the city work.

In the other future, Vetinari stayed where he was for a few moments before sighing and running out into the fog after Ienska.

***

A soft swirl of mist trailed out through the City Gates, the only sign that anyone had once been there.

The End

If you couldn't tell, this was my first attempt at a Discworld fic. Reviews and opinions, including _constructive_ criticism, are welcome. (Actually, I'm begging for them.) I apologize if the ending is a little abrupt, the story really didn't want to end, but there's only so far to go with a single plot. So, please, review!


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